


the promise

by be_cum



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Reading Between The Lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:06:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_cum/pseuds/be_cum
Summary: Treville and Richelieu’s relationship, although beautifully intricate and complicated, at the very heart of it is defined by the simplest things. Unlikely they are ever voiced aloud, but the sentiment is irrevocably there.





	the promise

**Author's Note:**

> It started as a meta tumblr post, then it turned into a ficlet, then it grew twice its size. But in my heart I still consider it to be a meta.
> 
> “Love is not an emotion, love is a promise” and I'm not even remotely sorry for this blatantly obvious reference.
> 
> Usual warnings: unbetaed, English is not my first language.

**_“I choose you.”_ **

“Maybe I should write to my brother,” the Queen said uncertainly.

Treville did not want to be there. He did not want to discuss Richelieu’s future with his almost victim.

He wanted the make-shift council, Richelieu’s reckless and ludicrous plot to murder  _the Queen_ , he wanted all of it not to happen.

Richelieu was practically omnipotent, why couldn’t he just go back in time and make everything simply not happening?

“It will be like Savoy,” Athos chipped in. “Spain will whisk him away somewhere. Or just...”

“As long as he lives, he’s dangerous, Your Majesty,” Aramis said grimly.

Anne looked like she was actually considering excecu—

“If I may,” broke in Treville. “Writing to the King of Spain that the First Minister of France attempted to assassinate his sister usually leads to an international scandal and war between nations.”

“You are right, Captain,” the Queen raised her dove eyes that were brimming with resolve. “This course of thinking is inhuman.”

“The Cardinal was pretty inhuman when he tried to murder you,” Aramis muttered under his nose.

“What do you think, Captain?” the Queen turned to him. “What do you think will be best for France and my son?”

He thought that this shouldn’t be happening. He thought to throw himself at her feet and beg her to spare Richelieu. He thought about Richelieu, the trust they had between each other, the bond that had been broken by Richelieu’s actions.

Over twenty years of their acquaintance their relationship had weathered many turbulent events; their relationship had been tested on more occasions that Treville could bother to count.

After twenty years of making impossible choices, choosing other option was simply inconceivable.

“I think that France needs the Cardinal,” Treville said, ignoring incredulous looks from his men. “And the good of France is above all else for me, Your Majesty,”

Anne nodded, resolute.

“Then it is done.”

* * *

**_“I will be waiting for you.”_ **

“What do you think will become of France?” Treville asked.

It was dusk, the sun had set long ago, and only the very tops of the buildings still brimmed with reddish gold of the sun. Richelieu was drawing circles on Treville’s chest, relaxed and soft.

“The war with Spain is imminent. Anne carries the child, hopefully a boy. The Bourbon bloodline is irrefutable. It’s only a matter of time, how long can we postpone the war, and we don’t have money for it.” Richelieu tried to sit up and go to the desk covered in important letters, but Treville’s arm lay heavy across his shoulders, stopping him from escaping.

“No,” Treville covered Richelieu’s idle hand on his chest with his own. “I mean, after us? After we are gone.”

“It is not like you to ponder over such frivolous matters,” teased him Richelieu. Treville’s fingers were warm and calloused; they drew his wrist closer to Treville’s face so he could kiss it.

“I dream that France will be a safe and peaceful place for everyone,” Treville said.

“France will be dominating Europe,” stated Richelieu matter-of-factly. “The Habsburg dynasty will be weakened, royal power will be supreme in France.”

“Pity we won’t get to see it.”

“I do hope for Purgatory though. The view from the mountain is definitely better than from the depth of Inferno.”

He thought that even the prospect of eternal damnation didn’t seem so daunting if in the right company.

“Don’t you think the future will be more lenient and we won’t have to suffer such dire punishments?” he asked.

“In another lifetime, maybe,” Richelieu laughed quietly. The sound was lovely and deep, it seemed to have been etched on the inside of his bones because it could be five hundred years from now, but Treville would remember that sound in perfect clarity.

“In another lifetime I would marry you, then,” Treville said.

It was too dark to make out Richelieu’s features, but he knew his love was smiling softly, for he knew Richelieu better than he knew himself.

“Well, in that case,” Richelieu pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss, “I will be waiting.”

* * *

**_“I will be looking for you.”_ **

They were on the Spanish territory amidst the raging war between the countries.

Everyone, Treville included, would suggest that going on a low-profile mission to chase ghosts on the enemy’s territory was not suicidal.

It was the last instance of lunacy.

Treville, everyone excluded, couldn’t care less.

“Sir, you are a Minister,” Athos, the new Captain of the King’s Musketeers, tried to talk sense into him.

“How fortunate it is then, that I will be right there to relinquish my responsibilities to their more suitable owner,” Treville said without glancing up, too focused on drawing the best route possible on a map.

“Sir, this is mental,” D’Artagnan said.

Treville was too busy talking to his secretary: the poor man was to cover for him in his absence.

“Sir, shall we go to Sorbonne and check if the bastard is still there? It’s a much shorter trip,” Porthos offered.

Treville wasn’t a very religious man, but even he knew that that was blasphemy.

“God bless his soul, but don’t you think it’s safer without him?” Aramis ventured.

Treville didn’t say anything and shut the door behind him; he had enough things to do on his hands.

“Treville, I need you by my side! We are at war!” Louis exclaimed. “I am to ride out in a month to my troops; I can’t leave France with anyone but you in my absence!”

Treville advised his King to trust the mother of his son more, and as soon as his audience with His Majesty came to its conclusion, he continued packing.

“Minister…” Anne said gently. “It’s been so many years, are you sure that…“

Treville waited patiently but the end of her sentence never came. Treville bowed respectfully and reminded his Queen that if there was a man who was deceitful enough to rise from the dead, he would have to be Richelieu.

And after days of riding and searching, after descending into Spanish lore, fighting his way through, after breaking in one of the cells in the dungeons, Treville could say to everyone that indeed, the man who rose from the dead years after his death was Richelieu.

Because even if that man was painfully thin, worn out and exhausted, gaunt from malnutrition and frail from ill treatment, Treville would know him by the sound of his voice and the sight of his skin. Treville would know him blind and deaf, at the end of the world.

“Jean,” Richelieu whispered.

“Found you,” Treville breathed and enveloped Richelieu’s fragile frame in the safety of his embrace. The words weren’t enough and became mingled, discongugated, incoherent.  “Have been… all these years.”

The words had always been unnecessary, for Richelieu knew him better than he knew himself.

“You fool,” Richelieu burrowed his face into Treville’s shoulder. “You fool.”

* * *

**_“I love you, you are not alone.”_ **

“The Court hates me.”

“I don’t,” Treville assured him. “Sometimes. When you are not annoying.”

Richelieu turned around, his red clothes swirling and rustling. It was only recent when the Pope finally had deigned to bestow him the cardinal’s hat, he hadn’t yet got used to it. Treville just made himself comfortable in a chair, enjoying the view. If it wasn’t relaxing then it was most certainly quite pleasing to the eye.

“The Court hates me, and I’m the only one — the only one! — who keeps this country from falling apart,” Richelieu paced around the room, pale and jittery, and Treville couldn’t share his agitation. It was well past the midnight, the office was dimly lit and the fire had long gone out. Treville wanted to go to the garrison and fall into bed. It had been a long and tiring day, the King had been insufferable and he had never liked to be at Court.

“The courtiers, the Council, even the King!” Richelieu took a seat again behind his desk. He picked up some papers, skimming through them, then threw them away, then picked them up again to carefully arrange them in order that made sense only to him.

“They hate me,” Richelieu repeated, annoyed. “And these fools understand nothing.”

Treville didn’t think Richelieu cared all that much about other people’s opinions; frankly, there were not many people at Court whose opinion was of any worth.

But Richelieu was no one but a servant to his country, and every servant’s wish, Richelieu and Treville included, was to be acknowledged by his master for those long years of single-minded service.

“Why don’t they understand that this order of things while suitable for their comfort will never bring France closer to its glory? Spain should not be dominating Europe; that is France’s destiny.”

Many years later, when Treville would be at the end of his tether, he would cherish this moment as a reminder. Many years later, when everything would go in such depth of hopelessness and despair, when the trust between them would grow stronger and instantly shatter the next moment, when there would be more scars and sins on their mortal souls, Treville would remember this and he would cling to it as a drowning man. Every day from now on, when the world would stop making sense, when there would be nothing left of their relationship but ashes, Treville would come back to this.

Because a promise is a promise and Treville was strong and faithful. Because promises were not emotions, for they’re kept, and that had never made sense to anyone, but for Treville it had.

“All I do, I do solely for the goodness of France.”

Many years later the words would lose their meaning in light of everything Richelieu had ever done. Many years later Richelieu himself sometimes would not know what they meant.

Now though, the words were brimmed with passion and fire, hope for a brighter future, and a better world waiting for them in front of their feet.

There was a moment Treville held close, unfolding through the years as a reminder, and it went like this.

“Armand,” Treville called him.

Richelieu raised his head to meet his gaze, steady and tired around the edges.

“You should go,” he rubbed his eyes. “Your men will start wondering where you are.”

“You are not a good man,” Treville said.

“Well, neither are you, if that’s what you are implying,” Richelieu scoffed, leaning against the back of his chair.

Treville reached out to cover Richelieu’s fingertips. He had held him in his arms mere hours ago, but a small touch of skin to skin still pierced him like fire. It was desire, yes, but at times it was something else entirely.

“There is no one else,” he said. “There is no one else I’d trust with these words, because I know there’s no one else but you who mean them.”

Richelieu turned his palm upwards to grip his hand tightly.

“There will be times when you’ll regret your words,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“I know I will,” and it earned Treville a bitter smile because nothing, especially them, was meant to last in the world they were living in. “But I also know there will never be times when I will not mean them.”

“Why?” Richelieu whispered breathlessly, looking down at their laced fingers.

“Because I love you,” Treville promised. Because a promise is a promise and Treville was strong and faithful.

“You fool,” Richelieu said because these words meant nothing in the world they were living in.

But these were the pillars of life: everything was in God’s will, France’s destiny was to dominate Europe, and he had never carried the weight of the crown on his own.

“You are not alone,” Treville said. “That makes the two of us, you fool.”

“Preposterous.”

“I know you love me, for I know you better than I know myself.”

“What in Heaven’s name is it supposed to mean?” Richelieu frowned.

“It means that I’ll hold you to your promise.” Treville said; the words settled in the space between their breaths.

And the promise should be sealed with a kiss and so it was.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://becumsh.tumblr.com/) for more history nerding.


End file.
